conversation with Anders Jörgen. After a time, the weaver's presence even had the involuntary effect of adding a touch of high-bred clerical dignity to his bearing, with a fleeting resemblance to that of Provst Tönnesen.
In the meantime, it did not seem that the weaver had any evil intentions. He took a seat on the bench at the end of the table, and sat there leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and both his big red hands over his mouth, as if he had only joined them as an attentive listener. But it was not long before his face began twitching and grimacing, while he first cleared his throat, then coughed in a forced manner, and looked about smilingly from the alcove to the window where Hansine sat with heightened colour and swelling bosom, stooping over her work and not daring to lift her eyes. Emanuel became paler and paler. The smothered anger which had come over him at the behaviour of the young men in the village, began to struggle forth in his bosom, and caused him to stammer. He still, however, kept the mastery over his wrath, but when the weaver began to mutter behind his hands, and to make half audible sarcastic remarks on his conversation, his patience gave way. With a mixture of youthful passion and clerical displeasure he turned towards him and exclaimed:
"I do not know if it is your intention to drive me from the room, but I may tell you that you
